


Trespasser Inspired Drabbles

by OnaDacora



Series: Blackwall and Nohvara Lavellan Drabbles [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-14
Updated: 2015-09-14
Packaged: 2018-04-20 19:53:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4800206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnaDacora/pseuds/OnaDacora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>These were inspired by the Trespasser DLC trailer, before it was released, while the fandom was frantically trying to figure out what was going on with the Anchor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

With a heavy sigh as the last qunari fell, Blackwall pushed off his helmet and mopped the sweat from his brow. Corpses littered the floor around them, but for the moment it seemed that they had a moments respite.

“They just keep coming, don’t they?” Varric said, his voice coming from somewhere behind him.

“They are a rather persistent bunch,” said Dorian. His voice was further away. Maker forbid any blood get on his robes while the rest of them did the dirty work…

Blackwall was about to slip his helmet back on when he heard her. The Inquisitor’s scream of pain rent the air around them, so loud in the post-battle stillness. He spun around in time to see her sink to her knees, dropping her bow as she pulled her left arm to her stomach. She fell onto her side as he ran to her.

His helmet slipped from his hands as Blackwall knelt down beside her. “What–?” The green glow of the mark was familiar, he didn’t even think anything of it as he tried to see what was wrong. Her face was wracked with pain, her eyes squeezed shut and sweat beading on her forehead.

He wasn’t sure what to do. His hands hovered over her, afraid to touch her and make it worse. There was blood on her, on the ground, but was any of it hers? He wasn’t a healer– “ _Dorian!”_

“I’m already here, no need to shout,” Dorian said, sounding slightly out of breath and worried. He knelt down on the other side of her, oblivious to the blood that was seeping into his clothes. “ _Kaffas_ …”

Dorian’s lack of calm, insufferable superiority was just making Blackwall more worried. “What is it? Did you see her get hit? I thought I kept–”

He was silenced by a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Let the man work, Hero,” Varric said. But even the dwarf sounded worried.

Dorian pushed her hair out of her face and she didn’t even seem to notice. “Lavellan.”

She gasped and groaned in pain, but her eyes flickered open for a second. They met Blackwall’s, then turned to Dorian before they closed again. “The  _pain_ – won’t… won’t  _stop_ –!” She was still clutching her arm to her stomach.

Dorian eased her off her side and onto her back. His hands traced over her body, and if it had been any other man or any other situation, Blackwall would have decked him. But this was Dorian, her best friend. If anyone cared for her – _loved_ her– as much as Blackwall did, it was him.

“Lavellan, talk to me,” Dorian said. When she gave no reply, the mage looked up to meet Blackwall’s eyes. “She’s not wounded. I don’t… I don’t know what to do.”

His uncertainty sent a chill up Blackwall’s spine. They always kept her safe, together.

Well, if she wasn’t wounded, touching her couldn’t hurt. Blackwall slid one arm under her shoulders –it always shocked him how light the elf woman was, how could someone so fragile be so strong?– cradling her with one arm as his other sought her right hand. He brought her hand up to his chest, squeezing her fingers.

Her eyes fluttered open again, looking up at him. Some of the pain seemed to have left her face, but her normally warm brown skin was pale. “Black…wall?”

“I’m right here.”

Her body relaxed slightly in his arms, but she groaned and her eyes closed again.

“Don’t you dare,” Blackwall murmured, pulling her closer and lowering his head. “I never deserved you, but I’m damn well not going to give you up now.”

“Sparkler… did that mark on her hand used to creep up her arm like that?”

Blackwall straightened at Varric’s words, looking at the arm he had given no thought to. The glow wasn’t fading like it normally would, and Varric was right, why was it going up her arm?

“No… no it didn’t,” Dorian replied, looking stricken.

“She’s never… she would have said something to me if it was getting worse,” Blackwall said. _Wouldn’t she?_ But he didn’t feel so certain, not if she didn’t want to worry him… “Dorian, you’d know best out of us, do you have any idea…?”

Dorian was shaking his head before he could even finish. “No. The only one who seemed to know anything was…” He sighed. “I never thought I would say it but… I wish Solas was here.”


	2. Part 2

“I’m  _fine.”_

Blackwall frowned at her which just made her sigh. The campfire deepened the lines of his face as they sat together. Dorian and Varric were on the other side of the fire, talking quietly.

“You should have told me,” Blackwall pressed.

She hesitated, and under his stern gaze she withered and had to look away.  _Maker, she never backs down._   _Why now?_  He reached out and cupped her face in his hand, gently turning her back to face him. “Nohvara…”

“I  _tried_. I wanted to,” she said. “It was never this bad, I swear. Please believe me.”

How could she think he wouldn’t believe her? The fear in her eyes was more than he could bear, so he kissed her. He had only intended it to be a small gesture, short and polite considering present company –he was a private man, and preferred not to make his relationship with the Inquisitor a public show. But she pressed her lips against his hard, and before he realized she was trembling she wrapped her arms around his broad chest and rested her head on his shoulder. Blackwall held her close, and was vaguely aware of Varric excusing himself to his tent.

Dorian, however, hesitated. Blackwall looked up at the mage, but Dorian’s gaze was fixed on the Inquisitor.

“Don’t be too hard on her,” Dorian said at last, giving Blackwall a weak smile.

The Inquisitor’s fingers gripped the back of his shirt tighter, and he stroked her hair. Doubt crept into the back of Blackwall’s mind. “Did she tell you about this?”

“No,” Dorian said. His smile faded, and he sighed and rubbed his face. “She didn’t tell me either.”

He gave Blackwall one final nod and went to join Varric.

Her grip on him relaxed. She brought her left hand into her lap and rested her right on his chest, under her chin. He covered her right hand with his left, keeping his other arm around her shoulders.

“ _Ma vhenan…”_ she said softly. “I wanted to tell you.”

Part of him wanted to tell her it didn’t matter, that everything was fine. But it  _did_  matter. Why did she keep this to herself? “Why didn’t you?”

“I didn’t want the rest of our time together to be spent with you worrying about me.” Her voice was too calm for what she was saying to him. How many times had she rehearsed this in her head?

“I already worry about you. I  _always_  worry about you, because I  _love_  you. And don’t talk like you’re going to die,” he said, harsher than he intended. He kissed her forehead as a silent apology to soften his words.

She reached up to touch his face, running her fingers through his beard. She used to complain about it, but now she’d play with it just to watch him smile.  _It’s like finding the right place behind a mabari’s ear to scratch. You can’t help but relax when I do it,_  she had said. Her touch was a small comfort, but he couldn’t relax this time, or smile.

“…Dagna said it’s never going to stop.”

Blackwall held her closer, trying his best to ignore the icy fingers of fear that twisted in his gut. “What does Dagna know?” he tried to make his tone light, a joke. But it came out bitter.

She understood though. She forced out a small chuckle. “A surprising amount. But when it comes to the anchor… all we can do is guess.”

“Exactly. She doesn’t know for sure.” Blackwall said it for both of them.

“I was going to ask you to chop off my arm, at the elbow.”

_How can she keep saying these things so calmly?_

He tried to wrap his mind around it, but the very thought shook him. He pictured it, raising his sword against her. He rebelled against the idea, but the thought of entrusting someone else to do it instead… if it was what she felt was necessary, he would do it. Dorian could heal her right after, they would take care of her, and she would be rid of the mark and she would be fine. Before he realized it, he welcomed the plan, was ready to do it  _now_  if it meant her safety.

“But she didn’t think it would help. Dagna said the anchor is a part of me, more than just part of my body.”

Of course. Of course it couldn’t be that simple.

“But there’s a chance–”

“Not enough of a chance that I’m willing to cripple myself. Without both my arms I’m useless.”

That was enough. Blackwall took hold of her shoulders and pushed her away from him so he could look at her properly. For a moment she was startled, but her face hardened.

“You wouldn’t be useless. You could  _never_  be useless,” he said.

“I wouldn’t be able to fight, Blackwall. And the damn anchor is the only reason I was even made Inquisitor in the first place,” she spat.

Anger was better than the apathy she’d been showing him before.

“That’s a bloody lie and you know it.”

“It doesn’t matter. None of it matters because everything is going to  _shit_. I save the world, stop Corypheus, and for what?  _This_ is my reward.” She raised her left hand and for a moment it sparked green, then went dark.

He couldn’t think of anything to say. What  _could_  he say? He understood and agreed. After everything she had done, this is how she was thanked for her service and sacrifice? Was it too much to hope that the two of them could just be  _happy_?

She must have seen his thoughts on his face because her anger left as suddenly as it came and she gave him a weary smile. “This is why I didn’t tell you,  _ma vhenan_. I don’t want to spend our time this way.”

His grip on her shoulders relaxed and he pulled her back to him. He closed his eyes as she ran her fingers through his beard, this time allowing himself to relax, at least a little bit. “Don’t talk like you’re going to die,” he said again, murmuring the words into her hair.

 “Can we not talk about this any more? There’s nothing we can do until after this latest mess is finished, anyway.” She must have felt him hesitate, because she added, “Please?”

Blackwall sighed. “If that’s what you want.”

“I can think of other things I want,” she said, tugging gently on his beard.

She shifted enough in his grasp so she could kiss him. Without an audience, he had no problem taking hold of her hips and pulling her onto his lap. But he hesitated, tilting his head down and pressing their foreheads together to break their kiss.

“Are you sure you’re feeling well enough, shouldn’t you be taking it easy?”

“ _Taking it_  is clearly on her mind, so just  _give it_  to her already!”

Dorian’s voice –slightly muffled by the tent– had Blackwall blushing and looking flustered. The Inquisitor just laughed, hugging Blackwall’s head against her chest and resting her chin on top of it.

“I love you, Dorian.”

“I love you too, Lavellan, now go enjoy yourselves already and get some sleep.”

They could hear Dorian and Varric chuckling, and Blackwall groaned. “I hate him.”

“You don’t. Now come on, he’s just going to tease you more if we  _don’t_  do anything now.”


	3. Part 3

Blackwall was still asleep when Nohvara woke up. It was still dark, before sunrise. But she could hear birds, the telltale sound of dawn approaching.

His body was curled around hers, arms holding her close and their legs tangled together. Black hair –and some grey too– was fanned out around his head, and even his beard was a little messy from sleep. Well… sleep and  _other_  things. She smiled and tucked her head under his for just a moment, savoring the feel of their bodies pressed against one another. But the hair on his chest started to tickle her nose so she pulled back.

When she moved away Blackwall pulled her close again, burying his face in her hair. For a moment she thought he had woken, but his breathing still carried the faintest trace of a snore. Sometimes it was hard to believe this was the same man she had met years ago. After they had started sharing a bed he confessed to her later that he had had trouble sleeping at first. He was so accustomed to being alone that her presence kept him awake. Now he sought her out even in his sleep. Love swelled up in her chest and she kissed his shoulder, nuzzling into it.

After a moment Nohvara began the slow work of extricating herself from his limbs. It had become somewhat of a morning ritual. Nohvara was an early riser, and in the calm after Corypheus’s defeat, Blackwall had taken to sleeping in. She would have breakfast out on the balcony while she waited for him.

Quietly dressing enough for modesty’s sake but leaving the rest of her gear in a pile, she exited the tent. The air was damp and cool, and the sky was the dark blue of pre-dawn. Most of the stars were gone. A few embers of their fire still glowed faintly, and a curl of smoke twisted skyward.

Poking at the ashes with a stick was Dorian. She could see him clearly despite the dark, looking disheveled. His hair was mussed from sleep and even his mustache wasn’t quite right. He was wearing a thin, loose shirt with his trousers, his robes back in his tent. She froze when she saw him, startled at his appearance.

He looked up at her, giving a half-hearted smile and gesturing grandly at the ground beside him. “Join me, won’t you?” he said quietly.

She watched him carefully as she sat down. “You look  _terrible_ ,” she said.

He shrugged. “You’re not exactly the image of beauty yourself. Vivienne would be ashamed. Though, I suppose Blackwall listened to me, considering the state of your  _hair_.”

Nohvara raised a hand to smooth her hair self-consciously as Dorian chuckled.

“You seem to be feeling better this morning, though,” he said.

“For now at least.”

Dorian’s smile faded and he toyed with his mustache.

“What’s wrong, Dorian?”

His brow furrowed, the mask he’d barely been keeping in place finally slipping and showing the pain beneath. “How can you ask me that?”

Dorian sighed and looked down at the stick in his hand, still poking absently at the coals. “Forgive me, that was unworthy. I’m not upset with  _you_.”

“It’s fine,” she said, placing her left hand gently on his shoulder.

He shook his head. “It’s selfish. What I’m feeling can’t compare with how you or Blackwall must be feeling.”

“It’s still strange, hearing you defer to Blackwall,” she teased gently.

Nohvara was happy to see she managed to elicit a wry smile from the mage.

“Don’t get me wrong, Lavellan. He still doesn’t deserve you,” he said, but she could tell it was more out of habit than anything. “But I suppose I have to respect your decision.”

“When have you ever respected my decision? I clearly recall you  _shouting_  at me when you found out I was going to have him freed from prison.”

She had been in Cullen’s office, going over details when Dorian found her. He stormed inside, mustache quivering with rage.

“Have you  _lost your mind_ , Lavellan?” he demanded. He glanced at Cullen, briefly acknowledging his presence. “You’ll have to excuse us, Commander.”

Already emotionally exhausted from finding out the truth from Blackwall, and physically worn out from lack of sleep, she found herself lacking patience. “Can this wait, Dorian?”

“ _No_. What is this I hear about you having Thom Rainier released into Inquisition custody?” His jaw tensed. “I certainly hope it’s to dispense your own form of justice for deceiving you. For using you and then  _vanishing into the night_.”

Nohvara flushed angrily, regretting instantly having told Dorian the entire truth of what had happened before Blackwall had gone missing.

Cullen coughed loudly into his fist. “Inquisitor, I’ll go ahead and step outside…”

“No, this is  _your_  office, you don’t need to leave,” she snapped.

But Cullen ignored her, excusing himself quickly and closing the door behind him.

“Just  _what_  do you think you’re doing?” Nohvara demanded, rounding on him.

“Trying to talk some sense into you. What are you  _doing_?”

“The only thing I can.”

“You should leave that  _murderer_  in Orlais.”

“ _Stop it_.”

“ _No._  Why are you wasting your time and the Inquisition’s resources on that criminal? After what he’s done to you?”

“Because I  _love him_ , Dorian.” Her eyes swam with tears, even though she thought she had finally ran dry.

His expression softened, just slightly. He hesitated, and when he spoke he was calmer, but still firm. “And you’re letting that cloud your judgement. He doesn’t deserve you.”

“I don’t care. Dread Wolf take me, I just don’t care,” she said, her voice pleading, begging him to understand. “All the wrongs he’s done in the past, all the good he’s done with the Inquisition, Thom Rainier, Blackwall, any of it. I don’t care, because right now all I know is that if I don’t do something he’s going to  _die_. And how can I let that happen, knowing I can stop it?”

“You’re a fool,” he said, closing the distance between them and taking gentle hold of her shoulders. “But Maker knows you aren’t going to listen to me, not after that stirring confession.”

Back beside the campfire, Dorian chuckled. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Cullen leave a room so fast.”

“Then you must be forgetting that first game of Wicked Grace,” she said, grinning.

Dorian had to bite back a laugh, shaking his head. “How could I forget. I could go into detail, but I think that you are trying to change the subject.”

She hadn’t, not purposefully, but she did suppose they were getting off track. “I’m glad that you forgave Blackwall.”

“How could I not, when seeing how happy you are with him.” He gave her a sideways look. “You have terrible taste.”

“Hmm,” she replied, noncommittally. “If I do, it’s your fault.”

“I’m offended. How is it  _my_  fault?”

“You spurned my advances, what else could I do but rush into Blackwall’s arms for comfort,” she teased.

“Well now I think,  _I’m_  offended.”

Nohvara and Dorian looked up from the embers of the fire to see Blackwall emerging from the tent. For a moment she was worried that he might have taken her words too seriously, but he was smiling.

“Don’t be. If you were next on the list after  _me_ , I think you should be honored,” Dorian said without missing a beat.

Blackwall chuckled. “Aye, I suppose I should.”

The sun was starting to peek over the horizon as Blackwall came to her side, offering her his hands. She placed her hands in his and he pulled her to her feet.

“You’re up early,” she said.

He hesitated, glancing at Dorian and back at her. Quietly, he said, “It was lonely without you. How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine, I promise.” She smiled up at him, clasping her hands behind her back as her left hand began to ache. She managed to stop herself from wincing, kissing him before he could see the pain on her face.


End file.
